National predatory service

THE MORE BRAINLESS PARTS of the United Kingdom population are calling for national service to be reinstated as a way to ‘sort out’ their youth following the London England British riots.

The worse thing is, the British government is paying lip service to this brain-damaged idea.

The stupid journalists recycled the stupid idea to fill up print space with their stupid 'take' on the riots and stupid politicos latched onto the idea

The idea had been broached before back in 2009. It’s for students (or, alternatively, teenagers not in full-time education) to do 100 hours of compulsory ‘national civic service.’ The ostensible reason given in 2009 (as is now) was to provide a national army of volunteers to help the UK economy out of recession.

I can relate to why people would want conscription back, what with the riots and talk of ‘Broken Britain’ and all. But National Service in 1947-60 was a different kettle of fish from this ‘national civic service’ the government is proposing. If the plan ever sees the light of day, that ‘civic’ conscription will go the same way of the ‘short sharp shock‘ gaoling [jailing] policy of the 1970s and 80s (i.e. useless).

Srsly, there are five seriously worrying aspects to this facepalmingly brain-damaged bad idea:

1. Obviously no one in the UK knows the meanings of ‘volunteer’ and ‘compulsory’ anymore — now that’s srsly worrying.

2. Everyone under 18 won’t want it, which is why it will never happen. That age group also happens to be the next generation of voters, and the party that proposes any kind of conscription (military or otherwise) would be committing political suicide for at least the next 10 to 15 years.

3. The present generation is totally different from the generations in 1947-60. Our generation of kids are into entertainment and doing your own thing — whereas the previous generations were reared on the idea of accepting responsibility if it so be required of them. Our generation will resent anything forced on them (especially by authority figures) with great anger and gusto (remember the school fee riots recently?), and they will find really unpleasant ways to gum up the works for the authorities.

4. You’re putting predators and potential criminals in direct contact with the weak, needy and helpless of society — if you’re sniffing around to commit crimes, what better way to help than to have a civilian draft put you through to your potential victims?

5. Conscription entails registration. You’re just giving the state the golden opportunity to set up files on everybody in future — just like what the Stasi did in East Germany before.

If the recent riots are anything to go by, a national civic service will lead to even MORE violence and criminality in society.

Enough said. Derp.

© The Naked Listener’s Weblog, 2011. Image via britfa.gs.

Serious business this, my mind’s totally blown away

Srsly, saving others is not a pastime. It’s got to be worth it for the savee as much as it is for you. It’s serious business when you can’t figure out if you’re in fact taking a plunge without first checking the pool has water or not.

PREVIOUSLY on The Naked Listener …

Our heroine, Q, manages to get word out via a phone text message from hospital. The parents are doing nothing other than a piss-stream of email in over-correct grammar. The knights on the ground are still invisible, and whose intentions are unknown.

Same ole’ TL;DR routine. Same ole’ reality show. Same ole’ public service. Same ole’ disclaimer that I ain’t lying. Same ole’ fudged names to protect the evil.

Whay-hey! It’s 11.58 pm — wait, it’s 12.04 am on Friday, 12th November 2010. Time flies like knives. Fruit flies like bananas.

Srsly, all I’m seeing are fragged people. Fragged in the head. It’s serious business when all you’re seeing is a faecal avalanche of FUBAR news that you’ve secretly predicted would happen, but hoped would never transpire into reality.

What’s up, doc?

Don’t “doc” me, you little twerp. I go through all this trouble to write this, blog it, and hope somebody like you would have the opportunity to actually ignore it — and I get this sarcastic behaviour in return. What’s up yours, mate?!

Sitrep recap

As of 11th November, it’s Day 8 of hospital detention by my reckoning. Q’s being held under a Section 2 Compulsory Detention and Assessment Order on s.2 Mental Health Act 1983/2007 of the UK.

Facepalm

Q’s been binned at the Somewheretown Medical Centre in the East Midlands region of the UK, a place where strange, woad-painted tribal locals actually expect to have a night out on 47p (73¢ U.S.) in their pockets.

On Tuesday (9th November), I got the first and only SMS-bounce-email from Q’s number wanting my help and using the correct parol. I also got a retarded hieroglyphic email from Q’s old man. My return email to the old man was to tell him off more responsibility needed now.

Couple of thoughts have occurred to or been running in my mind about Q’s case, and I’ll put them in a separate blogpost in due course.

Wednesday, 10th November 2010

4.08 pm (9.08 am GMT)

Q's picture

I got this cryptic SMS-bounce-email from Q’s number around 4 in the afternoon (left).

That’s it. That’s the actual image. Q’s out? Q’s in? Q’s what? It’s meaningless. It’s just a picture of some notes, a English-Chinese dictionary and a book. Hang on. Pictures looks a bit too calm. I don’t normally associate calmness or books and notes with detention privileges — but, srsly, that’s just me. How could anyone under mental-health detention (possibly under medication) be writing what seems to be calm, unhurried writing? That picture could be from anyone or anywhere.

8.30 pm (1.30 pm GMT)

Just before dinner time. Contact! Q rang and it’s through! I now have a speaking voice on the phone and I could confidently and reliably say it’s Q that I was speaking to.

How? Because it was a torrent of nasal/saliva sounds from this eccentric girl ‘over thar.’ Q speaks like this all the time. She speaks like she’s giving me a hairdryer treatment (i.e. non-stop, five-hour-napalm-airstrike bollocking).

The gist of this 22-minute mobile yakking:

• I could barely hear or understand Q because of her high-speed speaking.
• Q was getting increasingly agitated as the call went on.
• I had to yell back because of the static on the line.
• I can’t even hear myself think with the yelling.
• Q is still in hospital.
• Q doesn’t even know she’s under compulsory detention.
• Q tells me all this shit about the place being a teaching hospital.
• Can’t be sure from Q how many times this UK helper visited her.
• This helper told Q he’s “from immigration” or “a doctor” or “something.”
• Q isn’t even sure of this helper’s name.
• This helper hasn’t or isn’t “repaying money” and “left only £100 cash, in cash” with Q.
• Ever since the helper came to visit Q, she says the hospital staff have suddenly started “to treat me badly” and look at her with poe faces.
• A boy by the name of Rick Aston-Martini either didn’t return Q’s hard drive or ran away with it, “and I’ve got all my data on it,” Q says.
• Overheard background conversation between Q and an Englishwoman (nurse or hospital staff?) the lines “Are you going to appeal?” or “Do you think you can appeal?”
• Bollocks, this is going nowhere, I wanna talk to that Englishwoman personage or some other hospital person there.
• Heard some verbal kaffufle between Q and person(s) in the background: clearly, nobody wants to talk to me because of potential legal liability.

So I got to speak to an Englishwoman (sounded like one to me).

Me: This is not a legal call. This is for information purposes only. There will be no legal liability on your part for this. I am only asking for information related to the situation with this Chinese girl.

Hospital lady: Alright (sounding relieved).

Me: Can you confirm for me, you are the Somewheretown Medical Centre, please? (Be sure to say lots of ‘please’ with Englanders.)

Hospital lady: Yes, we are.

Me: Good. Finally, someone who speaks the same normal language as I do.

(Heard hospital lady making nervous semi-laugh.)

Me: Can I ask you to get someone in the hospital, perhaps even the hospital managers, to contact me regarding this Chinese girl? I am trained as a lawyer but I do not practise law. I am 7,000 miles away here in Hong Kong and I am completely in the dark as to the situation. Her parents are, frankly, useless. Can you let the hospital managers have them contact me by email, please?

(Email address given over.)

Hospital lady: If you’re not the legal representative, I don’t know if the hospital managers are going to let you receive any information about Q.

Me: I understand that. I understand the situation. I’m simply ringing to confirm that the situation exists. However, could you also let your hospital managers know that I’ve put in an official request for information with the Somewheretown Health Authority on 5th, 6th November and that I have prima facie position. Please tell them ‘prima facie‘ position; they will know what this means.

Hospital lady: Alright.

Me: Thank you, you’ve been very kind and helpful. Could you now pass me back to the Chinese girl, please?

So, I got shunted back to Q and the rest of the conversation with her just blew my arse off completely. I’ve had my arse blown away or chewed off many times before, but this one really beats the cake.

• Q blames me for not helping because I’ve not answered her calls.
• But your calls didn’t get through, Q.
• Q doesn’t consider me trustworthy anymore to help.
• I was highly stung by that.
• I waited 6 or 7 days getting shit next to nothing from your mom and pop, and even less from your mum’s helper in the UK.
• Q couldn’t calm down.
• I couldn’t stay calm, so I really farkin’ yelled at her to STFU.
• I yelled so loud that the windows in the next building blew out and killed everyone in the streets below. Effective population control.
• Q calmed down.

Now we’re in the proper frame of mind to relay important details before the line breaks or Q has her phone confiscated:

• I sound like yelling because the line’s bad.
• We have to speak English because the line’s probably being monitored.
• See gist points already given above.

What the hell has this UK helper been doing so far? Why the hell hasn’t the helper told Q of the detention status?

We had to end the call because I sensed the people probably in the background were getting uneasy about Q talking to me. Before ending, Q promised:

• I’ll get her text-only SMS of the Somewheretown Police HQ telephone number.
• That police number wouldn’t be the main switchboard shit-forever-automated number but an internal office one.

I have heard nothing from Q since.

We now take a short break for commercial messages…

* * *

Someone asked me, if I don’t read or write Chinese, how come I could write email to the parents in Chinese?

I work in the financial printing business. Work in this line occurs mostly at night (as well as overnight). You work with senior but difficult customers. This work requires high resourcefulness. In this line of business, it’s like, you don’t call in just an airstrike at the first sign of trouble. You call in a five-hour napalm airstrike before you send in the troops to kill any surviving dust. Success is not an option because it is the only objective.

Another asked, with all this going on, I must have got no time for feeding, the shit-shower-’n-shave, etc. How do I manage?

You’re right. I won’t be in any mood to go down the street, grab a bite to eat, cook, have a drink, have a kip, or all the rest. But I ain’t gonna go that far and not shit/shower/shave and go hungry. I buy all the fruits I think I’ll need when I’d be lolling around for news. I buy crisps (BrE) / chips (AmE), sweets (BrE) / candies (AmE) and junk food to stay buzzed up.  Lots of coffee and soft drinks (BrE) / soda (AmE) / pop (AmE). I get my neighbour to cook prison-like food and leave it in my fridge for heating up later — reasonably healthy food to counteract the junk food. Ready rations, boy.

Still another asked, while I’m waiting around, what do I do in the meantime?

I ain’t fappin’, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. It’s not like a 007 James Bond movie where Jimmy Bond still has the yen and nerve to go around womanising anything that moves on two legs while being shot at by un-Christian, un-American, un-English, devil-worshipping, scotch-swilling, flashy-dressin’, financially savvy, overcultured, high-tech terrorist drug lords. How ever could Jim-boy get it up?

Derp.

The problem with the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland today is that ole’ Blighty is behaving like a semi-dispossessed colony of America’s.

All these years, the ‘My Land, Fair and Green’ has been taking in the we-know-what’s-best-because-it’s-backed-up-by-research drivel drummed up by lame Corporate America that even good ole’ American folks reject. Rather indiscrimately, I might add.

The last time I was in the UK (only a few years back), I couldn’t bleeding well even recognise the place. It’s not the physical side of the place — that’s stayed the same. It’s the people and their attitudes. Note ‘attitudes’ in plural.

In my days ‘over thar,’ British people (regardless of their size, weight, colour, pocket change) had one attitude. That attitude varies a bit from place to place, but it was the same attitude up and down the whole country.

Today, attitudes are everywhere. “My god, it’s full of stars,” as Dave said in his pod. At least now we know Darwinism has a negative side.

Constable Dixon 203

The very fabric of British life has changed, totally. The police are ALL armed — a big shock and disappointment to anyone who grew up ‘over thar’ with the British bobby weaponless. (They now hide the sidearm underneath the tunic). Indeed, the police ‘over thar’ now look like the paramilitary ninja-assassin-terrorist Schutzstaffel KGB GRU SAS Delta Force deathsquad commandos that my folks used to see in Latin America when we were living down there.

The British government denies all policemen are armed — that only specialist policemen with specialist training with specialist duties in specialist units in specialist-only target areas are actually armed.

Back in my days (hopefully not making myself sound too old), the IRA endearingly, thoughtfully, regularly, un-racist-ly bombed the shit out of us anywhere in England like clockwork on PAYE Day (i.e. every Thursday). Everyone went about their business regardless, had Ladies Night at the local disco regardless, the no-night-out lusers watched Top of the Tops on BBC1 at 7.30pm regardless, and the heroes were filling out next week’s UB40 for turning in the next morning regardless.

We had more trouble from ‘The Troubles’ back then in one month than we’ve had in the last 10 years combined, what with Al Qae-da-da-da-la-di-da and Hizbollocks on the loose today.

The police constable had a radio set (broken) and a truncheon, plus a pair of Doc Martens. The only weapon was his fat dick aimed at the nearest WPC, who usually couldn’t get enough of it. With no more than that, the bobby was able to do a fine job whilst having running battles with NF skinheads — the Mods running for cover — the punks and goths running in all directions — the Teddy Boys get run over — the Roxy Music/Human League-listening New Wavers running to buy concert tickets — plus the IRA — plus the Euroterrorists — plus Moonies and other suicide cultists — plus the Iraqis and Iranians streaming in to dodge their drafts — plus a totally WTF economy shredded to ribbons — plus a heat wave — and a rubbishmen’s strike. Britain back then was fucking horrible. It was a really nice place to live in.

People back then really cared to totally eff you up. At the end of the day, everyone, no matter what your colour or if you had only 47p in your pocket, sat around in the pub at night, and foreigners complained how other foreigners were ruining the country. And much fun was had by all that day.

Today, people are effed up and don’t care. There are no skinheads (because they all have Jewish kids now), no punks, no goths, no Teddy Boys (would be over 100 years old now), no New Wave faggots, nobody and nothing. The Chavs don’t count because they’re faggots and brain-damaged. You can only be one or the other, not both.

(I’ll tell you in a separate blogpost how to tell if a police constable is armed and what type of firearm he/she is carrying. I’ll even go as far as to tell you where the secondary, backup firearm is concealed and what type of weapon it is. Because that’s how they do it down in Latin America. It’s no big mystery. It’s a reject technique from the USA straight out of some ‘FM’ field manuals from the Sixties. I used to print banknotes for governments, man, I know these things.)

So, you go to the UK (BrE) / England (AmE) expecting to get an education, and what do you get?

You get the privilege of being burdened senseless for the next 10 years with tuition loans repayable at usurious interest rates to banks or building societies (BrE) / savings and loans associations (AmE) controlled by ‘Corporprat’ America.

You get the privilege of studying watered-down or doctored American knowledge that even good ole’ American folks found unworkable and gormless.

You get the privilege of owning heavy, non-A4 size tomes printed in pleasing pastel colours and contain ‘dynamically impactful’ graphics that you can’t read, or use after you leave uni.

And you have the privilege of being told straight down your throat that your B.Sc., B.A., B.Ed., B-whatever, M.A., M.Phil, MBA, Ph.D. degree is good enough for a clerking job and the sure-fire gateway to a brilliant career.

You have 10 years or less to pay up, or the repo men will come after your arse. That’s why we have the London riots the other day.

Now that’s edumacation.

* * *

Welcome back to The Naked Listener.

In the last segment, Q’s finally made voice contact yesterday but was in a haze about her condition, her predicament and her helper or helpers. The fact that I’ve managed to speak to someone at the hospital is a good sign. The fact that I’ve heard nothing from the authorities despite that is not so good.

Thursday, 11th November 2010

9.20 am local time

After eight solid days of waiting, explaining, excusing and begging via hieroglyphic email, I get this 9.20 am email from the parents (typos uncorrected):

Dear Robert,

Thank you very much for your helpness to Q and taking your so many times to send your emails. Please forgive us for misunderstanding because of  the different languages and concept.

Although at beginning, we thaught you could fly to UK to fetch Q for me actually. That is why I ask for your help. Thereafter both of us gave up this idea because we are not sure when Q can leave the hospital.

But I believe you want to help Q together with us for only one goal that is Q can be discharged earlier than 28 days as you are her good friend. So did [UK helper]. Mr. [UK helper]‘s email is ukhelper@invisiblemail.com. you could get more details about Q from him.

I had asked him to email you and he agreed but these days he was busy to the hospital to deal with the problems of Q. There is 3 weeks left, I  think we have a schedul first.

Best regards

[Q's parents]

Quick thoughts about that email:

• It’s in English. Derp.
• There’s no misunderstanding about language or “concept.”
• Compartmentalised thinking isn’t a concept. It’s being unable to think straight.
• Releasing a helper’s email after another helper practically begged 7 or 8 days solid over 40 emails isn’t a difference or misunderstanding in “concept.” It’s called fucking retarded.
• As a Chinese person, I cannot accept this retardedness. As any other person, I am refusing to accept this brain-damagedness.
• The grammar’s pretty good, actually. Wow, I’m a lawyer and even I don’t use the word ‘thereafter.’ Watch out for the last sentence in 2nd paragraph. Clearly, somebody else wrote that for them. You can’t get that in an online translator. (Trust me, I checked.)
• The language is consistent with that of a Chinaman who had spent some time in the UK. Go figure that one out.

Other thoughts:

• How retarded does a person have to be to actually think, even momentarily, that one could actually pick up and go to the UK and just fetch someone out of detention?
• If you, parents, were foreigners in the Old Country and in detention, how possible is it for your daughter to fly the pair of you out of detention, just like that?
• It isn’t fucking possible, is it?

One more thought:

• How long does it take for anyone to realise this after the first or second email from me explaining the whys and wherefores of the detention order?

Extra thought:

• I don’t want to contact this UK helper anymore. I am no longer able to feel confident or reliable about this person’s ability or intentions based on what I have seen (or, actually, not seen) from this person. My reasons will be given in a separate blogpost.

7.41 pm (12.41 pm GMT)

While I was organising a dossier on this case, I got this SMS-bounce-email from Q at 7.41 pm (12.41 pm English time):

“Dear Mr Perry Mason and all other lawyers doctors nurses and immigration embassy security staff, it’s Ms Q here who has been detended [sic] by somewheretown security in NUH NHS TRUST SMC campus for 7 days in Assessment unit SH1THOL3 under compulsory dispensation [sic]. I, on behalf of myself, am urgently need YOU to be my UK barrister who is able to represent me chasing and appeal for my life insurance in [old country], medical insurance in [enclave], finicial insurance in USA. Remember, I use to help you learning Mandarin but later on was abused by your girlfriend Slash who was doing Mathematics in the same university as I did – University of Somewheretown. I joined the University in September 2008, student ID 8008IES. I need you and your girlfriend’s apology. I am afraid you must do this for me – Please can you confirm your working telephone number and working hours today, I need to speak to you on the phone directly. Ms Q.”

Srsly, it’s serious business when you’re living through the Mushroom Theory of Management (leave you in the dark, feed you shit, then pick on you) and having to read a message like that.

It’s serious business all round, when your arse has been chewed off ages ago by paying customers and, now, your balls have rolled into corner as a result of brick-shatting retardation of the people asking for your help and then you get blown out of the water by the very person you’re trying to help.

Aren’t people just a fucking ray of sunshine?

* * *

Photo credits (all images pilfered and used without permission):

Facepalm by ShakataGaNai and tiny bit by Rama via WikiMedia Commons (reproduced under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported licence).

Red phone via RentSoda.

Hospital staff graphic via FotoSearch.

Sign language via Beyond Help.

Coke/Junk Food Bouquet via PersonalizedWrappers, Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA.

Constable Dixon 203 via BBC.

Retarded twins via eBaumsworld.

© The Naked Listener’s Weblog, 2010.

Srsly, I’m worn out, so later

Srsly, it’s 2.07 am and I’m knackered. There’s just too much FUBAR going on with this business about Q in the East Midlands region of the UK where funny tribal people with 47p in their pockets try to get bisected carelessly in the main thoroughfare of Somewheretown.

I promise you, the FUBAR news I got yesterday (Wednesday) will be thrilling as much as it was insane ‘over thar.’

In case you’ve forgotten (and how could you?), it’s serious business, srsly, about this eccentric girl called Q who’s been in hospital detention for well nigh on eight days under a Section 2 Compulsory Detention and Assessment Order on s.2 Mental Health Act 1983/2007 of the UK.

I’ll write up a post in a few hours’ time after I grab some grub and shit, shower and shave and a kip.

Ta.

Srsly, it’s serious business if you wanna be serious about serious business

The New World was discovered after gruelling sea voyages that lasted years. It wasn’t new or much of a world to speak of, anyhow, but it was the New World nonetheless. Heroes are heroes because they’ve learnt to hit the ground running. Wusses are wusses because they hit the ground running for cover.

PREVIOUSLY on The Naked Listener… Our heroes, the two Knights of the Order of Garter-Wearers, have learnt the inestimable art of invisibility in their epic battle to save Q.

Yeah, same routine. TL;DR. Real stuff, not invented. For you, and you, and that something behind you. Oh, sorry, is that your hubby there? Sorry! (Whistles and skips aways.)

It’s 6.39 pm on Monday. Now that’s a change. Pee-emm. Not ay-emm. The sun was up, then it got scared and went down again couple of minutes ago. I don’t know why, but the sun does that every day. Somebody wanna tell me?

* * *

STOP PRESS

Scratch that. That ain’t doin’.

Something new just cropped up. Good news, bad news, FUBAR news.

It’s 9.02 pm on Tuesday, 9th November 2010. My computer is working perfectly. I ain’t in a good mood. The computer is aware of that. Right now, it’s almost visibly, literally cowering in fear of being punched in the display and USB ports if it misbehaves.

What’s new, sport?

Don’t you ‘sport’ me, sonny boy. My computer is fearful enough to address me by “Dave — ahem, I mean, Sire — I am completely normal and all my circuits are functioning perfectly.” — I highly recommend you do the same.

Operational theatre is Somewheretown in the East Midlands region of northeast-central England. Local tribes there spend funny money (if they have any to start with) and a speak funny language that has an empty-beer-bottle-throwing vocabulary.

It’s a highly cultured, historical city where stuck-up 30-year-old wannabe-jailbait bitches trawl for not-secret-enough-but-take-me-from-behind — never mind. That’s London.

Start again.

Somewheretown a highly cultured, historical town where toilet paper used to be unrolled in the dead of night at the main thoroughfare that bisects the town as well as bisecting a couple of careless pedestrians trying to have a night out on 47p (76¢ U.S.) and hoping for some Uganda at the same time.

Careless being the operative word.

Never have I seen the carelessness in people as I have extrapolatively seen in all parties, but especially M, that psychological/psychiatric personage who still hasn’t made contact with me via email.

Monday, 8th November 2010

Around 4.45 pm. One incoming call. Three others at unknown times. All failed to get through. Welcome to the World of Deliberately Crippled Technology That Accidentally Could Not Be Used Personally.

You really have to hand it to these Richard the Thirds (hint: Cockney English).

I stated unequivocally to you (the Reader) in my last overlong, overbearing, overcooked and over-mind-numbingly report today on Monday (exact time: highly approximately lunchtime) phones calls about Q are pretty much useless for me right now.

Unless the mother’s helpers in the operational theatre actually email me about the situation on the ground, phone calls are time wasters. Especially if calls are from the mother: we no spik da same lingo, boyo. You spik, I no know. Me spik, you no-no know. We lost. We no time. Capito?

Between Sunday and Monday (7th-8th November), the gist of all the email to and fro with the mother is this:

• Get the UK helpers to email sitrep to me, for pete’s sake!
• Gimme their email addresses!
• How many times do I have to ask for them?!
• How long do you want me to wait?!
• Stop thinking early discharge for Q ‘cos that ain’t gonna happen!
• Q’s a foreigner ‘over thar’ with a breakdown/non-breakdown issue.
• Suddenly all these strange foreigners are running around, saying they’re trying to help, whose identities cannot be confidently or reliably determined.
• This ‘foreign’ crap just scares the Health Authority ‘over thar’, therefore pushing it into strengthening the legal protection for Q, which makes our jobs that much harder.
• Your Chinky-chowmein-fishball-fried-rice way of doin’ things ain’t working, ‘cos your daughter’s in the UK, which requires an ‘English’ way of getting things done.
• Educated people (not-so-subtle hint about the psycho/psychi character) who can’t or is unwilling to scribble a few words is ONE GINORMOUS VAGINA OF A PROBLEM!
• Do you think that a compulsory detainee will have international call privileges? Indeed, do you think talking to a detainee will be effective in getting the detention order removed? Hello!
• Get your UK people to write to me!
• Err … stop being a prat?

The Chinese mind has a problem keeping focus, yet the Chinese as a whole are highly focused people. Four thousand years of history and culture — and a drug-addled country like America with only 200 years or so of existent could become a world superpower. Even with such a disgraceful headcounting perspective on things, the Chinese is still beat hands down. America, ferk yeah! Only a subjective piece of shit pretending to be objective, rational and logical would say this is not the case. Your perspective’s invalid because your mother’s a crack whore.

The English way of doing things is very much like American’s. Do it my way, or no way. The really old-fashioned English way has one added flavour: Do it now! Not five minutes later! Now! Now! DO IT NOW! Bow, bow low, you street urchin!

Comprendo, meine gefahrvoll mutterficker?

Srsly, it’s serious business to be serious in serious business. Ernsthaft, es eine ernste Angelegenheit. Ist das nicht wahr? Êtes-vous me comprendre là-dedans?

(You can see how thoroughly corrupt I am in my European ways.)

We now take a short break for non-commercial messages …

* * *

Some people have commented on my last three blogposts about this serious business (one, two and three) via private email. Srsly, I don’t understand why commenters can’t comment directly in the blogposts. There’s this “Leave a comment” and a squarish box-shaped thing at the bottom for that. They are afraid of having their email recorded, so they sent me email instead. Go figure.

The commenters mostly have harsh words for me. Some say they 100% cannot understand because the blogposts are “not in correct English” — and even “not in English.” (Vraiment? O rly?)

Others complain I’m racist, typical white-trash racist out to bash the Chinese, “mentally defective and arrogant racist” about my white superiority, culturally biased, a disgrace to “humankind” and I’ve “gone too far” with this anti-Chinese thing. I reckon they’re mostly Asians or Chi/Jap/Kor/yellow gooks because they way the wrote have grammar mistakes that are consistent with these yellow people.

One unhappy bunny branded me

“… a traitor to your own kind. As a Chinese person, I cannot accept your attitude.”

Thank you. At this this person shows objectivity by actually having read up about me and my blog. My question is, if you’re non-Chinese, you could accept my attitude, no?

Then there was this email person, most probably a bitch Hongkonger because the writing was full of grammatical errors, pointing out that I’m “too emotional” and “not fair [unfair?] and to have be [sic] wrong [sic?] understand[ing]” about the Chinese.

That Email Person Who Is Probably A Hongkonger is BLIND. How emotional could I have been? I wrote three 4,000-plus-word blogposts on the situation. Yeah, right. My fuse was so blown that I sat down, fired up the browser, clicked to WordPress, logged into WordPress, navigated to the Dashboard, started up a new post, and … actually … wrote …. and … formatted … three … stories … about … Q’s … predicament. Email Person, you wrote 37 words. Your argument’s invalid because your mother’s not even a crack whore.

Statement. I refuse to accept the notion that you don’t understand or can’t read my English in my blogposts. Especially if you’re a Hongkonger, you have 10-plus years of schooling, probably more, in an education system that uses Chinese and English. On average, you have received frequent, consistent and regular instruction in the English language no less than 5 hours a week, every week, for more than 30 weeks in a year over 10 years. I am expressly unwilling and refusing to entertain your excuse that you cannot understand. You’re an invalid whore and you’re argumentative.

2nd-best prez evah

My response to all and sundry is as given in the English legal case of Arkell v. Pressdram (1971): Va te faire foutre, trouduc.

Reason: I’m Chinese myself. My argument’s valid because my mother’s a Chinese crack whore and I can’t confidently or reliably ascertain your crack whore of a mother is Chinese.

Je fume des cigares, vous fumez la verge. T’argument est nul, ta mere la pute.

(I smoke cigars, you smoke cock. Your argument’s invalid, your mother’s a whore.)

* * *

Welcome back to The Naked Listener’s Weblog.

In the last segment, we’ve seen the mother’s UK helpers have practically done a bunk-off (BrE) / played hooky (AmE) / play truant by being un-emailable for days on end, leaving me informationless to help Q.

Tuesday, 9th November 2010

Sixth day of detention. I have lolled around 6 days for word from the UK helpers. NOTHING. Some help they’ve been.

By my reckoning, Q has already been in hospital detention for five six days since 3rd November 2010 under a Section 2 Compulsory Detention and Assessment Order on s.2 MHA 1983/2007 .

All I got to show is an unending piss-stream of failed phone calls and inane email with the mother in a piss-poor, difficult-to-handle, primitive hieroglyphic language with a vocabulary of 35,000 words (if that at all) vs. 750,000 words of the English language. But still I try to write it.

I got Snowy (a friend) to help write an email to the mother, basically to explain the situation in proper chinky-ramen-noodle Chinese and basically to tell the mother off (and the UK helpers) for highly irresponsible behaviour.

If you’re going to be serious about helping and if you’ve asked for my input or help, you need to be a little more responsible to work with me.

Off-topic, I am very, very touchy about others making derogatory insinuations about my ‘responsibility.’ Indeed, I have an anger management issue especially when it’s Southern Chinese people start making that kind of ill-advised, potentially slanderous remarks in a serious tone. I ain’t racist against southerners, just that it brings my blood to the boil when these wogs, dogs and clogs start using irresponsible language like that. I’m a biker with a fringed leather jacket too, so I know how to ‘take it to the next level’ if I can’t take it to court.

Around 3.08 am today. Ay-emm. That’s 8.08pm GMT. Finally, I get an SMS (text message) on the mobile phone from Q:

“Hi R please ring me as soon as you can because i am in trouble and i am urgently asking for R’s family eight generation’s help. I am now stucked in somewheretown medical centre campus SH1T monitoring point (Assessment Ward A55HoL3 south block) on kafka road under b floor main entrance, postcode A33 H4T. Tel +44 (0)123 1234567 CHEERS LUV Q”

My reply:

“Q, stay unafraid, calm, strong. Know situ, wrking via correct procedures. Ask email access & write under suprvsn. Days or wks for discharge. Nbdy tells me anythg. Ur prob no big deal. Workable. Ask soc worker Jane Bloggs email me as ur mum useless. Show ppl this msg. Hang in there. Know horrible for u. Luv, R.”

Pay attention to the red words. They are the ‘parol’ (obsolete militaryspeak: special password used by certain authorised persons in certain circumstances for ‘non-convenient self-identification’). I can be reasonably confident that this message came from Q.

Pay attention to the blue words. This should sound like nothing to the most of us. To mention shit like this is prima facie evidence that the person (and Q specifically) arguably has a clear-enough, coherent-enough, capable-enough mental capacity (per Mental Capacity Act 2005). Therefore, there is a prima facie question mark whether Q was indeed suffering from a mental breakdown/disorder at the time of hospital admission. Would you be mentally ‘with it’ to notice this on your way in? Can you even describe where you live now?

Before getting the SMS, it seems Q tried to ring me. So she followed it up with an SMS. How thoughtful of Vodafone to bounce the SMS to my email. Now, that’s what I call service with a personal touch. Learn, Hong Kong, goddam you, learn.

This is what the UK helpers should’ve done when they rang and couldn’t get through. But they farkin’ well didn’t, did they?

The originating number for the SMS isn’t one I recognise. Maybe Q borrowed someone else’s phone to do it. Who cares. Q’s in detention. She’d managed to get word through.

Now, this is something I could work with. Take screenshot of SMS. Next action, contact Health Authority to get a move on with my official request for information. Attach screenshot to Health Authority. Indicate that, now, I’ve been asked to help direct by detainee. Not sufficiently mentally capable? You try sending an international SMS if you’re mentally incapacitated, dimwit. I’ve been asked, therefore ah hav powah to een-terr-veen, b’oyy.

Most of these psychologists and psychiatrists and the lamers who received training in same have the greatest of hard time to appreciate this. They imagine that, just because they have such-and-such training, they automatically know what’s what, what’s going on, and what’s the system.

Not to put too fine a point on things, when I did my crappy little first degree in psychology (minor: statistics), after my biology, before my law, and all the rest of that crap, these lusers have something in common. They go through the motions of helping their ‘patients,’ work the documentation, feel powerful at drawing up psychotropic prescriptions, and generally feel special and important swaggering along hospital wards with psycho/psychi name badges on their breasts. In other words, patients are just research or work fodder for their ‘psychology’ or ‘psychiatry.’ Personally, I find psychos/psychis are highly offensive people because their mothers are not crack whores.

(It’s different with us lawyers. We are incapable, biologically speaking, to be lawyers unless our fathers are faggotty little faggots and mothers crack whores. Be that as it may. I’m a printer now.)

Strange as it may seem to y’all, I have 24 hours in a day just like the rest of you good ole’ folks. I’ve got to work, eat, sleep and shit-shower-shave plus 101 other things all in those 24 hours. My workweek is 70 or 80 hours long. I get 25 to 40 phone calls a day from all manner of cattle all over the world. I can still find time to piss around and write long bloody email to the mother. And blog.

Email at 10.06 pm from Q’s old man. Another piss-stream of Chinese words. These folks know I can’t bleeding well read Chinese.

FACT: The time you spend faffing around to explain why something can’t be done could’ve been better used to get the damned thing done instead.

I just gave up the ghost. My reply basically says:

• I can’t read Chinese, old man.
• Oi! I’ve got over 38 email between y’all and me.
• I asked for the UK helpers email addresses every time I email.
• Nothing from the UK side.
• Seven days already, old man.
• What kind of Super Psycho Doc have you got ‘over thar’ who can’t even write one word?
• Y’all’re cramping my style with your asshat behaviour.
• Y’all need to be little more responsible in the way you treat your daughter, b’oyy.
• Don’t fence me off. I remind you, it’s you who came pleading for my help.
• You don’t like my face, neither do I like yours.
• Y’all ain’t my pals, old man. Q is.
• Don’t you threaten me, old man. I can bleeding well recourse and claim legal liability from all and sundry without your approval.
• I’ll tread on anyone who adversely affects Q, even indirectly.
• You’re part of the problem, not the solution, old man.
• Gimme the goddam email addresses!

I just couldn’t believe this bunch of wankers. These are Q’s parents we’re talking about here. Srsly. It’s serious business when you have to deal with the problem at hand AND arrogant, pig-headed, yellow supremacist parents.

Don’t you threaten me, old man!

No, I don’t know how shit works, you chinky lil’ wetback.

But do YOU know how ‘this’ shit works, old man?

I forgive, but I will never forget.

Thinking ahead

What’s going to happen to Q after this episode in her life?

Truth is, lots of people in the UK has had breakdowns before. Breakdowns are no big deal. It happens, especially before exam time, like the GCE/GCSE O-levels, which is the first big life challenge for most folks ‘over thar.’ You just sweat it out for a few days and it’s over. Your mileage may vary. Everybody in the UK knows about Section 2. Can’t believe Super Psycho Doc doesn’t. Whisky, tango, foxtrot.

Q (and her parents) probably wants to get the eff out of the UK ASAP and back to the Old Country. That would be a serious mistake. Srsly, that would be an unbelievably brain-damaged move to return home without obtaining the postgrad qualification Q had worked so hard to get and, now, suffered for. It’ll be time, money and effort wasted.

FACT: The Chinese are desperate to the point of hysteria about getting a ‘foreign’ diploma.

FACT: The Chinese are incredibly, easily homesick-able people.

I have literally seen, with my own eyes and also personally through my balls, loads and loads of Chinese students in the UK homesick to the core. They yearn to wear, to talk, to eat, to shit, to shower, to shave even a morsel that reminds them of the Old Country or their being Chinese. They are so focused on this that almost all the Chinese students I know or encountered just become functionally blind to anything happening around them.

I know these people. They’re completely bonkers with their nostalgia. They knew well beforehand they’re going to be brick-shattingly homesick when they go abroad. That’s why the absolute majority make lame excuses that their country’s Really Is Heaven on Earth (ain’t) so there’s no need to travel abroad for pleasure or business (rubbish). At the same time, they’re hysterically comical in their desperation for that piece of foreign parchment.

Extreme homesickability and extreme parchment-chasing is exactly what provokes a fast mental breakdown. The Chinese, as a general rule, are quite feeble-minded when it comes to mental problems. It takes them a long, long, long time for recovery.

FACT: Western universities exploit the extreme diploma obsession and extreme nostalgia by setting up high-cost distance-learning programmes to serve the Chinese.

British health authorities take note: Year after year, more and more Chinese students come to your shores for ‘edumacation.’ Factor in their said characteristics, and you chaps can easily see increasing incidents of mental breakdowns among your Chinese foreign students. You’re gonna have to deal with that, and youse hafta sort out your procedures for it. Sooner or later, y’all health authorities will start charging these students hard, cold cash for dealing with their silly-arsed, self-inflicted problem.

* * *

Photo credits (all images pilfered and used without permission):

SMS logotype via Watblog.

Comments Encouraged via Vendian.

Bush Giving the Finger via Fugly.

Thinking Ahead via Southwestern University, Georgetown, TX, USA.

© The Naked Listener’s Weblog, 2010.

Srsly, this is how you get your kids killed

Kids are the joy of our lives. We love them, do everything and anything to protect them, and make sure no harm comes to them. Then don’t bleeding well have good intentions if you can’t handle the heat of protecting your kids.

PREVIOUSLY … Our heroine, Q, is in hospital detention under an administrative order in a strange land in the East Midlands region of England where the local tribal natives speak a funny language and use funny money.

It’s serious business. Srsly.

It’s 3.30 am on Monday. It’s serious business when you’re up this late (early?) because of Q.

Yes, it’s yet another TL;DR post. When it comes to anything about Q, all posts will come-ever-lastingly TL;DR.

Again, my personal and sexually uninhibited disclaimer to you, personally, is all the things written are for real, is happening right this time, and for the greater benefit of public good. Don’t farkin’ complain it’s too long. Stop watching porn for a moment. Read something for a change to feel literate.

Situation

Situation with Q

Detention

Assumption is that Q is still in hospital detention under the Section 2 Order issued under s.2 MHA 1983/2007. This is a non-renewable, compulsory detention and assessment order with a duration of 28 days. It is the most common way for people to be detained in the UK.

The formal assessment of Q under Section 2 should take place by 4th December 2010 at the latest. That will determine Q’s discharge from hospital or continued detention in hospital.

If continued detention, Q will be under a new order called the Section 3 Compulsory Detention and Treatment Order per s.3 MHA 1983/2007. This is for 6 months, renewable for a further 6 months, and after that for every 12 months. So this order is for 6 months + 6 months + 12 months, etc.

Situation with Q’s mother

Clearly, the mother is frazzled because her only child and daughter is in the shits ‘over thar.’ And like almost every Chinese, the mother is too upset, too confused and too disorganised to even understand any explanation told to her.

Current developments

Between 5th and 7th November, the mother and I exchanged email and I tried to explain mostly the legal aspects of Q’s case (all in broken Chinese). I get the feeling the mother isn’t really taking things on board because of her state of mind right now.

I get a sense from the mother’s writing that she has been in contact with the hospital or with someone ‘over thar’ but she ain’t telling me about it. I don’t understand why the mother would do something this stupid and still ask for my help: I’d be working blind.

The picture I now have is this: Around the 3rd or 4th November, it seems Q was having some sort of breakdown and was smashing things up in the house. Somebody (a neighbour?) called in the police, and they took Q to hospital for her own safety and the safety of others. The hospital staff probably made an initial assessment and decided to detain Q in hospital under s.2 MHA 1983/2007. I can’t confirm or deny this because I’ve never been in contact with anyone ‘over thar’ about the situation.

Around the 5th or 6th November, I lodged an official e-request about Q’s status at the Somewheretown Health Authority website. This is the key correct way of contact that is acceptable to the Galactic Republic ‘over thar.’ It means I don’t have a copy of the damn request for my records. I told what I did to the mother in an email. The earliest I would hear from the health authority would be Monday (today) or Tuesday.

Immediate developments

A few hours ago (7th November), I got the latest email from the mother. Srsly, was it a friggin’ bombshell! Now the mother tells me these things:

• There is one person (by the name of M — a friend?) who has actually visited Q in hospital a few days ago. This person is ostensibly a psychologist or a psychiatrist.
• M had tried to ring me several times but couldn’t get through.
• A neighbour living with Q was the one who called in the cops to have Q taken to hospital.
• The neighbour “has no time” to deal with the matter.
• A friend of the mother’s is in London arranging something with the Embassy for Q’s return to her home country.

My immediate response to the mother’s email was:

• If the mother already has UK-based people, those people should be the ones to help Q and not me.
• Don’t misunderstand that I don’t want to help, but at least not let me work in the dark by withholding information like this.
• That the mother still hasn’t given me contact details of her UK people — and this makes my task an impossible one.
• All of her UK people must contact me immediately.

Reaction

I can’t believe how ferkin’ retarded the Chinese could be.

(I could have said ‘we Chinese’ but I’m being racist here. As a Chinaman myself, I am eminently (over-)qualified to be racist against my own kind. Only ‘like and like’ can be compared, no? Meantime, I’d like to advise non-Chinese, better watch your step if I even remotely sense you are being racist. I also happen to be an English prick, even if I don’t look like one.)

Three, four days have gone by and I have to show for it is a couple of emails with the mother, trying to explain the various ramifications and possible progress of Q’s detention. All in broken Chinese, no less. It’s amazing I could even do this at all.

Even more amazing is the mother’s people on the ground in the UK. Not once have they tried to reach me.

The one single person who had seen Q in person was M. The mother says M had tried to ring me but couldn’t get through. (I can confirm that I received several incoming calls in the past few days and the calls didn’t get through.)

The part of M just fucking blew my mind away totally, and even my testicles are rolling on the floor. My eyeballs just flew out the window at high speed, killing somebody in the next building with an open window.

Unless M didn’t know my email (and I find that hard to believe since M got my phone number), I can’t for the life of me comprehend operationally, psychologically, philosophically, linguistically, emotionally, sexually, psychopathically, bukkake-ly, bondage-ly why anyone who rings anybody don’t follow up with an email in a situation like this.

What the hell did we invent email for, I ask you? Just an electronic version of snailmail? Then gimme back snailmail because I kinda enjoy showing off my stationery and legal qualifications on letterheads.

How hard is it to write an email to your fellow-helper when can’t get through on the phone?

‘Sorry, mate, the pressure’s great. Had to wank.’

For three days? Can’t you fap and type at the same time? How do you manage to watch porn on the Intarwebz? Shit, I’ve got two hands like everybody else and even I could fap, type, eat a sandwich, talk to customers on the phone and porn-surf at the same time. All in the office. Isn’t this ability what’s education supposed to give us?

FACT: The Chinese are highly strung, easily upset creatures with a penchant for compartmentalised thinking, but loath to admit this to themselves.

FACT: That characteristic is intensified in times of trouble.

FACT: Everyone notices this except for the Chinese themselves.

I appreciate parents become frazzled when their kids are in trouble and need saving. I appreciate that they are not fully capable of being objective, sensible or fast-reacting on sensing their kids are suffering. This is human nature.

I’m not like that. I have a psychotic need to win. I have an psychopathic desire to get even. I have a raw hunger for information, just like Jimmy Carter has. I have all three in times of trouble. I have a brain that tells me I need to be sensible, clear-headed and fast-reacting in times of trouble in order to survive in order to get even in order to win. Srsly, it’s serious business ‘doing the business.’ Do you know how ‘this’ shit works?

This is precisely why I hate the Chinese way of doing things. It’s never done anything right. But, what, look how we’re the engine of growth for everyone around us? Fuck you, boy, you’re wrong. Your argument’s invalid and your mother’s a crack whore. What this place did was actually the Western way. Go back to school and relearn your history, economics, sociology, politics, law, linguistics, philosophy, physics, biology, chemistry and cooking about your own country. People who think like that are unwelcomed here.

Appreciation

This is exactly why I feel I’m working blind because nobody told me these things. Everyone who is/might be helping is doing unknown things in a very, very compartmentalised way. Working at cross purposes gets people killed.

It is totally incomprehensible to me for the mother to say who’s been in touch with Q after 3 days of emailing back and forth. I just cannot farkin’ get my head around why I’m not told right away who’s talking to who. How come the mother just couldn’t give me the details of her UK people at the outset?

M, the psychologist/psychiatrist person, seems never have told the mother about the Section 2 Order and its implications for Q. That came only from me. This really, really raises red flags for me. It really highlights the level of knowledge of this person. Section 2 is supposed to be part of M’s expertise, but M has not shown it. I’m just a firnooking printer who’s lucky enough to have been trained in law, and even I know about Section 2. Reader, learn from this episode.

Ring someone. Couldn’t get through. Don’t be a dumbo! Follow it up with an email! Days go by and no word from the UK side. The mother never gave my email to M? Okay, I can relate to that. But why would you not ask for my email? Hello! I just cannot get my head around this, I just can’t!

The mother wants quick or even immediate results. The Chinese have a tendency to think if A can’t come up with results by tomorrow, get B to help. If B can’t do it by the next day, get C to help. Pretty soon, you have an alphabet soup of helpers doing their mighty best to help, but all at cross purposes from one another. You will see in the next part (below) why this modus operandi is highly destructive. The other extreme is to totally rely on just one person, or oneself.

Look, for Q, I want quick results yesterday, never mind today. I didn’t have the heart to ask the mother the rhetorical question, how many hours in a day has any of us got? Three or four days are lost because of inability to reach the UK helpers.

Technical appreciation

“Even in life-or-death situations, it always, always comes down to [having] the paperwork.”

(YY, 07 Nov 2010)

The mother

The mother is too upset, too confused and too disorganised to appreciate the situation. The mother probably thinks what works in the home country is going to work in England. It fucking well doesn’t. Nearly any Chinese way of doing things in England results in the opposite effect there. Almost all the Chinese I know couldn’t tolerate being told this. Well, fuck them. They’re wrong. I mean, who knows England better, they or me?

Basically, the mother wants me to just fly over and get Q back. Flippin’ hell just like that. The mother’s willing to pay my airfare to/from the UK. Even today, this is how the mother thinks despite my explanations. Why? Because the mother is told different things by different unknown people.

There are many, many aspects about the Section 2 Order that is really, really hard to explain (even in English). I don’t think a calm person is able to understand, much less the mother in her present upset and confused state of mind.

The mother says everyone at home is “scared half-dead” by Q’s situation. Well, I don’t know how much is left in your deathness, but half-dead is not a strong-enough word to describe your fear come the 28th day of the Section 2 Order, when the Somewheretown Health Authority slaps on the 6-month Section 3 Order.

The mother’s attitude seems to be like this: Let’s get this person to help. Let’s also get that person to help. Let’s get some other person to help. All at the same time. So we end up having several people working independently but not knowing each other.

The mother says she doesn’t want to complicate this matter. THIS IS ALREADY COMPLICATED ENOUGH, thank you very much. The mother doesn’t realise she is complicating the matter for her daughter.

Rationale behind Section 2 Order

From the emails, the mother is talking all sorts of shit about Q is shafted by the inequities of the system and why the UK as a country that values democracy and human rights could and is laying this shiz on her daughter.

The mother doesn’t get it. Section 2 Order is exactly Q’s human rights. This is exactly what is protecting her. It is horrible to experience it yourself like Q is, but it is better like this. (And this is not some bleeding-heart, do-good-feel-good, liberal democrat logic. I’m a card-carrying NRA member, I pack heat when I’m abroad in those countries that I’m licensed, I love Nixon, I’m okay with Bush, and I adore Teddy Heath. Go figure my liberalness.)

Section 2 Order is precisely what is protecting Q. It’s horrible, no question about that. The order is designed to prevent hospital staff from trusting others and making a mistake. Some people are extremely persuasive with little or no effort. (My mum was such a person.) Some of them are very unsavoury characters. (My mum was nothing like that.) This order stops the hospital staff from releasing Q into the wrong hands via social engineering by person(s) unknown.

Truth is, despite all the real and imagined shortcomings of the UK, that country is still 300% better in almost every possible way than Q’s home country. I’m making massive allowances for the fearful mother for taking the my-daughter-is-being-shafted line and the part about democracy and human rights.

But any calmer, cooler and more collected person taking that democracy/human-rights line is going to get two in the stomach and one in the head from me. Anyone in Q’s home country taking the viewpoint that the UK and basically the Western world ain’t as good as us ‘ovah hee-ah’ is just going to get aggravated-assaulted with intent to cause GBH.

Health Authority’s perspective

Strategic Health Authorities (England)

The mother wants Q out. We have piles of people fighting for Q’s release from detention. There are at least two people on the ground in the UK operating.

From the perspective of the Somewheretown Health Authority, this is precisely why it wouldn’t discharge Q to us because:

1. it sees too many parties being involved,
2. it sees we haven’t figured out a single, consistent party to lead contact and negotiations,
3. it sees the mother’s upset and frantic state as not sufficiently “suitable and stable atmosphere” to
   discharge Q into, and
4. it isn’t going to discharge a foreigner like Q into the hands of other foreigners whose identities and future whereabouts cannot be confidently or reliably ascertained.

Pay attention to the red words above. Especially by those person(s) who imagine their mental-health training makes them automatically knowledgeable about the system. I’m a lawyer by training and even I make no such claims, expressed or implied.

Still unconvinced?

• Assume you’re the Health Authority.
• We have a foreign girl with a breakdown issue.
• We don’t know who this girl is, really we don’t.
• This girl has no family, no relatives and no history here.
• This girl’s problem might not be mental.
• This girl’s problem might be from bad people feeding her drugs.
• This girl might be a victim of possible human trafficking.
• Okay, let’s put this girl in 28-day compulsory detention.
• Yes, we know this is horrible for her, but it’ll be even more horrible if we release her to the wrong people.
• We know bad people will suddenly stay away at the sight of a detention order.
• Even if the mother comes to collect her, we cannot be 100% sure this is the real mother, so we can only release this girl to a local British resident.
  Unless someone can prove or be authorised to collect her, the girl stays with us.
• Those who want to fetch this girl, they must go through correct procedure.
• If they’re family or good people, why won’t they go through procedure?
• This is how we Brits handle cases involving foreigners.
• Oh, did say it’s the law here?

The mother thinks just because she is the mother so she could fetch Q out of hospital. There is a technical legal difficulty. I can say I’m Q’s brother/uncle/father/lover/pet/tin-can tootsie. You can say you’re Q’s sister. Everyone can say they’re Q’s family. The Health Authority (and therefore the hospital) isn’t going to FUBAR-fukkin’ know, will it?

This is why the Mental Health Act 1983/2007 mentions “nearest relative” and identification thereof (s.26 MHA 1983 as amended by s.26 MHA 2007), which the Health Authority is statutorily required to consider before discharging a patient.

Chinese language has only one (and only one) meaning for “nearest relative.” The Mental Health Act has several different meanings, and they don’t necessarily correspond in the meaning of a real blood or marital or other relative.

Here’s a simpler explanation of the “nearest relative” requirement from Mind that is more relevant in Q’s case:

2.5 If the patient has lived with any person not on the list (maybe a friend or a more distant relation, such as a cousin) for five years or more, then that person is the nearest relative.

(Legal Briefing: Nearest Relatives Under the Mental Health Act 1983, Mind.org.uk)

Pay attention to the red words above. Q has no relatives in the UK. She only has friends, maybe just ‘kinda friends.’ (I contacted all her friends ‘over thar’ that I know of, and none — none! — has replied.)

If you’re thinking in a calm manner and being very, very reasonable and detached, you can easily work out that we’re looking at a possible five years before discharge. Half-dead yet?

“Sorry, we can even talk to you. You’re not authorised.”

(From law-school days)

The British deep down are nice and kind people. They do things to protect Q. Everything is for Q and no one else. Any other person is shit. The Health Authority is are going to protect Q from everyone else, even from relatives. The mother and everyone else just aren’t realising this.

FACT: The Chinese have a tendency to do things without linkage to other matters. Any teacher will be able to tell you that the hardest thing for Chinese students to do is conceptual thinking, which is why they’re so goddam bad at splash diagrams (mind maps).

FACT: They go ballistic on hearing this and at once start showing examples of conceptual thinking, which action in itself is proof they can’t handle it.

Tentative mission

So, what are we looking at here:

• Q is detained for 28 days under Section 2 Order.
• Section 2 Order expires around 3rd-5th December 2010.
• Health Authority likely to extend detention via Section 3 Order.
• Section 3 Order can be up to 6 months, therefore ending next year in June 2011.
• If we can’t get our act together, Health Authority is highly likely to renew Section 3 Order.
• Renewed Section 3 Order will be for 6 months, ending in December 2011.
• If the Health Authority decides continued detention, it renews Section 3 Order for 12 months, ending in December 2012.

The tentative mission is in two parts:

(1) Let the 28-day detention run its course because there’s no way out of it now.

(2) Avoid possibility of the Health Authority needing to carry out a Section 3 Order.

Task personnel are:

(3) UK people take point as they are in the operational theatre.

(4) I advise on legal, if (and only if) necessary.

(5) Keep the mother informed regularly, but let her sweat it out with no operational role.

Coordinating instructions

Too many people are getting involved in saving Q. Three (or four if you count me too) is a helluva lot if they’re not talking to each other and the coordinating officer, as it were, is close to having an epileptic fit because of inability to ‘sweat it out.’ So:

1. Distribute all contact details of personnel among themselves.

2. Err … start talking to each other?

3. Distribute details of all persons or organisations that task personnel comes into contact with.

Even before I went to law school — in fact, when I was a little, scrawny shit of a kid even before I started school — I was able to read. I learnt that whenever I see the words ‘compulsory’ and ‘order’, they nearly always mean compliance or fulfilment of some stupid, inane, insane, expensive procedure as convoluted as the Gordian knot done up by some well-meaning evil organisation. Add in the words ‘detention,’ ‘custody,’ ‘guardianship,’ and ‘assessment’ and you’ll know they’re synonymous with ‘correct procedure.’

4. Lodge official request on Q’s status.

5. Gauge Health Authority’s complexion from its response to official request.

6. Adjust request for further information and correct procedure for Q’s discharge according to 5 above.

Whenever you’ve agreed to help on anything, be in the helping loop. All the time, every time. This is not a courtesy, it is a requirement. Stay in the information loop. Check mobile phones are juiced up. Check email all the time, whenever you can, everywhere you can. If there is a need to wank for three days solid, tell others how to reach you and if you’ll need a box of tissue, too.

7. Fixed time every day for status updates from task personnel, even without anything to report.

There is something quite fantastic I notice among all the Chinese (and also Chinese-looking) people on Facebook. Their profile pages have abso-fucking-lutely no email address. I went for a spin on Facebook just now. Altogether, I hopped past exactly 100 Facebork profiles — I ain’t in the mood to calculate difficult percentages.

• 100 Facecrook profiles sighted.
• I really did go to 100 profiles, just to prove a point to myself.
• I have a hand counter for counting things (helps in my line of business).
• I borrowed hand counters from colleagues for my multi-counting.
• 66 users are white, whitey, whitish, bleached or not-so-dark-looking; they’re out.
• 44 users are coloured, multicoloured, bilious, burnt or ‘foreign’ looking; they in.
• 18 of these colorama-ring-a-ding-dong users have email on profile pages.
• 21 users are East Asian, Chi/Jap/Kor/yellowman looking; they’re in-in.
• 5 of these yellow dumplings have email on profile pages.
• Enough said.
• It was a pointless exercise, as well.

Amazing, isn’t it? You go through all this trouble to set up FB, upload your insane pictures with jailbaits/camwhores/emofags/pet/mother, piss your workhours on dull/uninteresting/buggy games, have 3/4 email accounts, and what you don’t do? You don’t even have a single email address on your FB. Beautiful, just fucking beautiful.

These brain-damaged wogs, dogs and clogs are the lamer and lusers your mother warned you about. They are afraid of getting spammed. But we’re getting spammed anyway, so why worry? There’s a “Send message to…” to click on. Yeah, right. FB’s messaging system is reliably unreliable, oaf. They don’t want to be ‘disturbed.’ Pretty disturbed to think like that when you have an FB account.

How the hell is anyone going to reach you if you or your family is in shiz? I know 99% of people have multiple email accounts. Use one of them. I can’t explain why you need to ‘email-whore’ your FB. Stop being such a prat. Only the penguins in South Pole don’t have emails.

8. Display contact email on Facebook to obviate total reliance on its messaging system.

Most people have a very low sense of urgency anyway. It’s just that, that low level stays low even in times of trouble or emergencies. Most of us operate in slow motion because of the shock factor of ‘why is this crap happenin’ to me, man?’ We then stay slo-mo because we keep thinking ‘it’s unfair, man, it’s brutal.’

The only time I feel it’s unfair and brutal is when it’s left to me to shove that barbed dildo up a deserving individual who faffs around or flits from thing to thing. You know, I don’t deserve to do this dirty work of dispatching my enemies, however much I might enjoy it. I can’t serial-kill under these conditions. It’s unfair, man, it’s brutal. It’s gloves, overalls, boots, cleansers, etc. or I’m taking industrial action. People are so inconsiderate by dying in a messy way and soiling the carpets and creasing the upholstery.

9. Force authority figures to think about discharge date: ask when’s a right time to buy airtickets for Q. Keep everlastingly coming with this. Tell them they’ll keep hearing it if they keep ignoring it. Automatic repeat a must.

That concludes the coordinating instructions for the time being. More to come.

Logistics and support

This is kind of pointless, since the relevant people and parties don’t know the existence of the other in the soup mix. Later. (Groan)

The mother may have no money: she could be relying on our sympathy and big hearts, holding out the prospect of us to ‘fuck it’ about the airfares if we have to pay up first for her. The taxman and airlines do not negotiate with charity, which it regards as in-flight terrorism.

10. Ask the mother if she could afford so-and-so dollars for the airtickets.

Command and signals

This is kind of pointless, since the relevant people haven’t even started talking to each other, and any talk that has occurred is with an upset, uptight, up-the-wall mother who has been de-coordinating things so far. Later.

* * *

Photo credits (all images pilfered and used without permission):

Detention cell via ColorLines

Sign language via Beyond Help

England’s Strategic Health Authorities map via FindTarget

Mission Statement via School of Agricultural Sciences, Oregon State University

© The Naked Listener’s Weblog, 2010.